


hey, penny for your

by princesskenny (againstmygreeleaf)



Category: My Candy Love
Genre: Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Eating Disorders, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Not Happy, References to Drugs, Reunions, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 01:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15546966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/againstmygreeleaf/pseuds/princesskenny
Summary: Wherein freshly matured former enemies do some catching up.





	hey, penny for your

**Author's Note:**

> Writing for this fandom takes me back to places I don't want to revisit, so I don't do it much anymore. That said, I check in on spoilers now and then and damn if the Amber spoilers from MCLUL didn't wiggle their way in my forebrain.
> 
> I love Amber and there's not nearly enough F/F content on AO3. So I'm gonna hang back in my ugly places for a sec and eek out some catharsis.

Marcese wonders aimlessly around the campus, blowing her bangs out of her face. She should leave, really. She’s already pawned all her Addies off on students desperate to pass their exams. There’s no reason left to hang around.

Except it’s kind of nice to blend in, maybe. To be glanced at and thought of as a student, like she’s someone smart enough to be here. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay for awhile, chill in the air conditioned library and fade into the background. It’s a big campus, it’s pretty unlikely she’ll run into anyone she knows.

“Marcese?” a voice calls from behind.

Scratch that.

She takes a breath and turns around, exhaling a soft gasp as Amber struts up the pavement.

“Wow, Amber. It’s been forever.”

“I haven’t seen you in years,” Amber puffs agreeably, a friendly smile quirking her lips.

“Yeah, well I see you all the time,” Marcese chuckles, privately thinking of sliding her hand in her pants as with a swimsuit slideshow featuring Amber flashing across her computer screen. “Congrats on the modeling career.”

“Thanks,” Amber chirps but her smile seems to lose the twinkle, seeming more tacked on. “How’s it been with Debrah in rehab again?”

Marcese snorts. “I still drum, filling in for others or helping out cover bands. Your brother still drum?”

“He picked it up for a little bit, but then boxing took over.” She shrugs. “Have you seen him?”

“Nope.” Marcese pulls her hands out of her hoodie’s pocket and shortens the gap between her and Amber with a tentative step. “But I think we both know I’m more interested in seeing you.”

Amber rolls her eyes. “We’re not in high school anymore, Marce. Can’t you be polite?”

“Polite,” she repeats, testing the word on her tongue. It tastes sour. “That what you call all this fluffy small talk?”

“I’ve changed. I’m a better person now, I put in that effort.” Amber straightens, slightly lifting her chin. “Did you?”

“Because I was the bully.” Now Marcese rolls her eyes. “Right.”

“Oh, please.” Amber scoffs, but she’s grinning somehow. “The way you hit on me? Entitled up to eleven. Just like a guy.”

Marcese shrugs casually, feels her own grin budding. “You liked the attention.”

“Another thing I’d expect from the mouth of a guy, not pretty little lips like yours.”

“Now who’s hitting on who?” Marcese brows jump to her hairline.

Amber laughs and she edges forward, her shiny black stilettos toe-to-toe with Marcese’s dirtied tennis shoes.

“Me, Dakota, Debrah,” she rattles off, shaking her head. “You just couldn’t get enough of people who treated you like crap.”

“It fed something in me,” Marcese says simply, suppressing the pang that goes straight to her chest. “Kinda like how stepping on top of other people fed something in you.”

“I changed,” Amber repeats, “but you’re still with Debrah.”

“I don’t know where else to go,” Marcese admits.

She’d dropped out of high school to join Stars of Nightmares. Her aunt was furious. They’ve barely spoken since. If she learned about Marcese’s side hustle, they’d probably stop speaking entirely.

Amber doesn’t reply right away, eyes shaded with a sympathetic stare. Marcese tries not to squirm beneath it.

“When’s the last time you had a sandwich?” she asks to change the subject, eyeing Amber’s wispy frame.

Amber is visibly ruffled and as she plants her hands on her hips, Marcese gets a glimpse of the girl she knew in high school.

“Where’d you get your haircut?” she fires back. “It looks like a duck’s butt sticking out of the water.”

“Debrah told me it looked like an emo anime villain’s cut,” Marcese laughs, shyly feathering her fingers through her hair. “I’m not sure which is worse.”

“You got some free time?” Amber asks, suddenly interested in studying her cuticles.

“I do,” Marcese says evenly.

“Then maybe we could go somewhere and catch up,” Amber suggests.

“Sure. Wanna go grab lunch?”

Amber visibly winces and shakes her head. “I was thinking my apartment.”

“Ooh,” Marcese coos with interest.

“Unbelievable,” Amber gasps, scandalized. “You haven’t grown up at all, you perv.”

* * *

Marcese reclines into Amber’s geometric patterned futon, hugging the fringed throw pillow to her chest and inhaling the scent of fabric softener. Amber finally kicks off her heels and sits down beside her, watching her closely.

“What? I got something on my face?”

“No, I just…” Amber trails off, shaking her head. “I didn’t expect to see you again. It’s a little hard to believe.”

Marcese smiles wanly. “Yeah, I guess it is. Like I said, I see you everywhere. But I never thought I’d get to see you in person like this, with your being a bit of a celebrity and all.”

“Well, you’re a little bit of a celebrity too, you know,” Amber hums, fiddling with the golden hoop of her earring. “Stars of Nightmares isn’t the hottest band ever, but you guys aren’t exactly underground no-names either.”

“Debrah takes up all the spotlight,” Marcese says, dismissively waving her hand. “That’s the way she’s always been. But when she’s out of the picture, nobody really pays attention to what I do. And that’s fine with me, I don’t need any unflattering photos going viral.”

A wry smirk flickers over Amber’s lips. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Bullshit. You look flattering in every picture…but up close, you do look like you could use a sandwich,” Marcese adds, her levity faltering.

“Don’t do that,” Amber warns.

“What?”

“Act like you care. I haven’t seen you in four years, you can’t just show up and look at me like that, or say things like that.” Amber huffs a frustrated sound and flaps her hand. “I have to keep a figure for my career, okay? It’s just how it is and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with you.”

“Okay, okay.” Marcese raises her hands in defense. “That’s fair.”

“If we’re going to hang out, you can’t judge me,” Amber says and she doesn’t sound demanding in the least, only weary. “I didn’t bring you over here for that.”

“I’m not judging you. You seem to have your shit together more than I do,” Marcese says, sweeping an arm across the living room. “I’m impressed. I didn’t expect that.”

Amber smirks and rises, sauntering over to the fridge. Marcese watches her ass as she goes, tongue swiping over her lips. Amber opens the door and grabs herself a silver can, popping the tab. She takes a long swig and smacks her lips.

“You want one?”

“What is it?”

“Spiked sparkling water. It’s got less than half the calories of beer and most mixed drinks.”

“Eh, why not.” Marcese gives a shrug.

Amber grabs another can and returns to the futon. Marcese pops the tab and gives it an inquisitive sniff before she takes a sip. The bubbles tickle her nostrils. It has a mild grapefruit taste and the kick of alcohol is an unmistakable undercurrent. She takes another sip and then sets it down on the coffee table.

“Excuse me, Miss Heathen,” Amber scolds, reaching over. “Use a coaster”

She slides a wicker coaster across the table and their arms brush briefly. Marcese obediently transfers the can to the coaster and watches a bead of condensation roll down the aluminum.

“How many times has Debrah been to rehab now?” Amber asks without the distain Marcese would’ve expected from her. She just seems curious more than anything.

“Four,” Marcese says, sighing. “She doesn’t care. She just bides her time there. It’s not all her fault though. I mean, that stuff is everywhere in the band scene.”

“You do it too?” Amber raises a brow.

“I’m not into the stuff Debrah is,” Marcese says, glancing away from Amber as she takes another drink.

“Well, good. Believe it or not, I’d be sad if I heard something happened to you.”

Marcese chokes and the spiked sparkling water almost squirts out of her nose. She slams the can back to the coaster and tosses her hands up.

“For real! Who are you and what have you done with Amber!?”

“I told you already, I’ve changed!” Amber shakes her head and takes a sip from her own can. “Look, do you need me to apologize? I apologize. I never should’ve bullied you back then. We were kids and sometimes kids do stupid things.”

“Especially troubled ones,” Marcese adds softly, thinking about the time she whacked Amber with a textbook because the latter had insulted Debrah. Amber isn’t the only one who has things to apologize for.

Amber makes a noncommittal sound of agreement and empties her can in a long swig. She stands to fetch another one and this time Marcese watches her legs. Long, svelte as a crane legs. Four years later and she still wants to push them apart.

“You need another?” Amber asks.

Marcese downs the rest of her can and then crushes it against her head, burping obnoxiously. Amber gives her a deadpan stare of disgust and in that moment, she looks exactly like Nathaniel. The resemblance makes her smile.

“Now I do.”

“I shouldn’t give you one after that gross display,” Amber chides lightly.

But she gets her one anyway and they clink cans without cheers, just exchanging gentle smiles before popping their tabs in unison.

“So now that you have the freedom of an adult,” Marcese drawls, “have you quit pretending you’re straight?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Amber shakes her head but Marcese doesn’t miss the bloom of pink in her cheeks.

“You want me to remind you?” Marcese offers, only half-joking.

There’s a palatable pause and Amber drums her designer nails against the glistening side of her can.

“I didn’t bring you here for that,” she says.

“You brought me here to catch up,” Marcese says, then sips. “But catching up can be more than gossiping.”

Amber tilts her head back, peeking at Marcese from the corner of her eye as her golden waves spill over the back of the futon.

“What about Debrah?”

Marcese chokes on a bitter laugh. “I couldn’t count all the boyfriends she’s had. She’s not my girlfriend or anything. It’s— It’s complicated. We’ve never been exclusive.”

It’s not complicated, really. Debrah isn’t interested in commitment and Marcese isn’t stupid enough or uppity enough to demand it from her. They’re just two horrible people who make each other feel better sometimes and worse other times, and they’ll always be bound by the shared comfort that comes in letting yourself be truly exposed. They can trust one another to be nobody but themselves, and it’s a hideous kind of a bond, but still an unbreakable one.

“How do you know I’m not seeing anyone?” Amber asks, taking a slow drink.

“You wouldn’t have brought me up here if you were.”

“You can’t do that either,” Amber says, lightly pushing at Marcese’s shoulder.

“Do what?”

“Act like you know me like that.”

“Oh, I don’t know you?” Marcese stares skeptically and swigs.

“Not as well as you think you do.” Amber turns to face her fully.

“Okay,” Marcese says. “But you’re still not seeing anyone.”

And Amber cracks a bit of a grin even as her gaze yields defeat.

“Alright, fine. I’m not seeing anyone.” She waves a hand. “Too busy for that. In other news, what’re you doing at Anteros anyway?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Marcese fiddles with the fringe on the throw pillow. “Stalking you.”

“Charming. Really, though? Do you live around here now?”

“Actually, Debrah got transferred to a supposedly stricter facility around here. Obviously I can’t tell you which one, but you know.” This part isn’t a lie. “I figured I might as well have fun while I’m here, wanted to see if there were any parties going on.” This part is.

“Someone’s always having some party or another. We could hit one later, if you want.”

“Maybe,” Marcese says. “But this is nice. Catching up and whatnot.”

“It is,” Amber says, and there’s this warmth in her voice that soothes something restless in Marcese’s bones.

“What else have we got to catch up on?”

“I could ask about Debrah,” Amber says.

“But I don’t want to talk about Debrah.”

“Neither do I.”

And Amber scoots a little closer to her, their knees nearly touching. Marcese puts her hand on Amber’s thigh and Amber does not push her away. Their kiss is brief but blissful, this plush press of lips that has Marcese’s heart pounding.

“You had the same lip gloss in high school,” she comments idly.

“Baloney,” Amber declares, though not unkindly. “We kissed _once_ in high school. No way you’d remember my lip gloss.”

“Guava flavor?” Marcese teases knowingly.

Amber’s eyes widen. “No way.”

“I have a memory like an elephant. My mouth does, anyway.”

“Do you and your mouth wanna watch a movie?”

“What kind of movie?”

“Saucy murder mystery?” Amber suggests.

“Does Nat still read those?”

“Without the sauce, now and then.” Amber bobs her head. “Don’t tell him I told you. He’s got this bad boy, edge lord reputation to keep.”

“Oh god.” Marcese just hangs her head. “He used to keep pens in his pocket for fuck’s sake!”

“I don’t know if it’s good for him or bad for him,” Amber mumbles pensively. “We shared a womb, but sometimes I can’t tell which parts are real and which parts are the act. That’s awful, isn’t it?”

“No.” Marcese waves her hand. “He might not be able to tell either. I think we’re all kind of like that, in different ways.”

Amber looks at her for a long moment and eventually says,

“Let’s watch it in my room.”

* * *

Marcese is rather expecting it when halfway through the film, Amber pushes her onto her back. The comforter is satin soft, the mattress a marshmallow cradling her frame. She relishes when Amber’s knee slides between her legs and this is another expectation met.

Amber’s hands come up to her waist and Marcese also expects her to unzip her jeans. This is not what happens. Amber’s hands grasp the hem of her hoodie and Marcese freezes. Before she can do any more than gasp, the material is wrestled off of her and the cool air prickles against her skin.

Amber nearly straddles her, stops short. Goes rigid as the glow from the television illuminates the track marks littered over the insides of Marcese’s elbows. Eyes widening, Amber practically vaults herself off the bed, scrambling to the light switch. Marcese flinches as the brighter light assaults her eyes, vainly trying to hide the marks by hugging herself.

“You’re supposed to rip off the bottoms,” she mutters uncomfortably.

“What the hell!?” Amber slaps a hand to her forehead, agape. “You said you weren’t into this stuff like Debrah!”

“I’m not,” Marcese says, drawing her legs up like a shield. “Debrah won’t have anything to do with needles.”

“Marce…” Amber’s face melts, sympathy bleeding through the shock.

Marcese gulps, guilt flooding her guts. “I can’t with the pity, Amber. Are we gonna do it or not?”

“Not now, of course not now.” Her expression hardens. “Now I should be locking up my jewelry.”

“Hey!” Marcese protests.

“No, that’s it, isn’t it?” Amber pins her with an accusatory look. “You want to seduce me and take my shit, so you can sell it for smack.”

“Alright, fine,” Marcese relents tiredly. “I thought about snatching a necklace or two on my way out. But it was just a thought, I wouldn’t actually steal from you.”

“A junkie who wouldn’t steal,” Amber deadpans in disbelief.

“Not from you,” Marcese promises, meeting her eye.

Amber’s shoulders slump. “How long has that been going on?”

Too long. Marcese shrugs instead of saying as much.

Amber tentatively shuffles her way back to the bad, plops down on the edge. “So much for catching up…”

“I’m actually here to deal,” she goes on, unbidden. “Not the hard stuff, just some study buddies.”

“Study buddies,” Amber repeats flatly.

“You know, stimulants…do you want me to leave?”

Amber wordlessly twists until Marcese can see her torso and delicately unbuttons her blouse. The sleeves slip right off her shoulders. Beneath the padded, lacy bra is a frail nightmare. Alarm rattles through Marcese’s skull in bolts.

“Oh, Amber…”

“They airbrush this part out,” Amber says, running her fingers over her painfully protruding ribs like mallets over a xylophone. “They love the waistline, but not the rib cage.”

Marcese covers her mouth with her hand.

“My boss greets me with a pinch on the ass every session, without fail. My mom dealt with worse when she was a model, but I was hoping things would’ve changed more by now.”

“Why do you still do it?” Marcese asks, unable to tear her eyes away.

She thought Amber was too thin, but she didn’t realize it was this severe. 

“Why do you shoot up?” Amber asks in turn.

And Marcese’s voice dies in her throat.

“So do you have anything that could help me keep the weight off?”

“I can’t, I mean— I won’t give you anything like that.” Marcese firmly shakes her head.

For a moment it looks like Amber’s going to protest, but then the fight in her face dims and she solemnly nods.

“Okay. I guess I don’t really want to buy it from you anyway, knowing what you’d spend it on.”

“I guess this means we’re better adults than we were kids,” Marcese ventures with this wayward brand of optimism. “Four years ago, I would’ve raided your locker.”

“Four years ago, I would’ve told you to go OD somewhere.” Amber sighs and cradles her forehead in her hand. “Ugh. What are we doing?”

Killing themselves, probably.

“Living, I guess. You gonna kick me out?”

Amber chews her lip. “I don’t think so. It looks like we have more catching up to do than we thought.”

“I could go for another drink?” Marcese says uncertainly, testing the waters.

Amber raises her head and to Marcese’s surprise, takes her hand. She gives it a consoling squeeze, lips parting as her thumb strokes gently over the knuckle of Marcese’s index finger.

“Yeah, I could too.”


End file.
